


Satisfied?

by MiraiLenKun



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: America is not perfect, America is not the Hero (Hetalia), America y Mexico, Canonical Character Death, Crying, F/M, Hamilton References, Historical Hetalia, John Riley is love, Mexican History, Mexican-American War, Mexico is a mother, Minor Character Death, Neither Mexico, New Mexico love his family, Other, Polk is an asshole, Tratado de Guadalupe-Hidalgo, War, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29565165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraiLenKun/pseuds/MiraiLenKun
Summary: Bleeding, smoke in the sky and a foreign flag flying above the fallen in battle. Mexico wondered if the great United States of America was satisfied.
Relationships: America/Mexico (Hetalia)
Kudos: 11





	Satisfied?

**Author's Note:**

> History is written by the victors. It is a phrase that fits so well in the history of the United States.
> 
> This is a historical fanfic to help you understand about the war between the United States and Mexico. I didn't want Alfred to be a heartless villain because I know perfectly well that he is not like that, I think he would know when something is not right.  
> The government of Janes Polk was characterized by being expansionist. Multiple times he offered to buy the territories of New Mexico and Alta California (currently Arizona, California, New Mexico, Texas, Colorado, Nevada, and Utah) but the Mexican government refused multiple times.
> 
> Relations were already strained after the unrecognized independence (at the time) of the Sovereign State of Texas. That was also the fault of the Americans, because they began to inhabit it bringing slaves when in Mexico since its declaration of independence from Spain it had already been abolished and was punished. But the Americans who lived there were worth it and decided to become independent, besides the Texans felt closer to their northern neighbor and I don't blame them, they didn't have much communication with the rest of the country.
> 
> Polk believed that Mexico was an inferior country and could not defend itself from the declaration of war. The entire war was fought on Mexican territory (at that time it was Mexican). The Americans won and Mexico lost 55% of its territory. Can you blame the generations of today because it still hurts?
> 
> The fifteen million that was promised to be given was not a payment to the territories, it was a war compensation for the damages done by the American soldiers. That is stated in the treaty if you don't believe me.
> 
> It was only because of Abraham Lincoln and that several politicians opposed it, that they did not annex the whole country.
> 
> Mexico was not a white victim either. There were foolish mistakes made by the Mexican government, many fled the battle and also got their hands stained with the blood of the Americans. Although it was only in self-defense. Because in its history, Mexico has never attacked anyone without being attacked first.
> 
> Because in a war there are no heroes or villains, only winners and losers with scars.

[ ... ]

Holding back her urge to cry, something she had held back for a long time since the declaration of war. Her eyes recorded the moment when the Mexican flag was removed from the highest point of the castle to be replaced with the stars and stripes flag of the invading foreigner. A mockery to her people and a cruel humiliation to her sovereignty. 

She would be lying if she said she was not afraid. She was terrified.

As the war progressed her hopes of victory were dying along with her citizens. By now she no longer knew who her boss was. Whether the Mexican troops, Riley's and the San Patricio Battalion had fallen to the cruel death of the U.S. imperialists. The U.S. Army outnumbered them, they could not compete against their superior weaponry, the political instability of their government was only strengthened by the internal conflicts that did not stop and they were on their own. They had no allies, no support against the titan of the continent.

The representation of Mexico was with its eyes downcast in the Chapultepec castle in front of its northern neighbor, its invader and possibly its executioner, the United States of America.

“Mexico,” repeated the blond for the fifth time, although he didn’t seem annoyed at having to call her so many times. His voice enjoyed pronouncing her name.

Her golden eyes glittered with pain. She didn't have the courage to look at him. She was so afraid to see what kind of man, Alfred had become to do this to her. He held her shoulders firmly, which made her helpless.

How did that innocent-eyed boy dressed in white and a red bow tie become capable of harming his own brother and those he once called friends?

When did Alfred confuse his nation self and his humanity like that?

“L-Let go of me, U-United S-States," she begged reflexively.

Alfred grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. I expect to see ambition, greed and even cruelty, but his big blue eyes reflected confusion.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Alfred asked.

“Why am I looking at you like that?!” she questioned angrily. Transforming her fear into anger, “What you did to me… A war just to expand! And you act like it's nothing! What did you want to prove with all this?! Everyone knows you're the new world power!”

“My boss said that this is the only way that...”

Mexico interrupted him, “Polk is an asshole! He doesn't care what you want! All he wants is to see me disappear!”

**[Polk despised Mexico; likewise, Polk, who was a Southern slaveholder, considered Mexicans to be racially inferior.]**

“Otherwise you wouldn't accept!” contradicted United States, looking frustrated.

“Accept what the fuck?!”

“I want everything to be like before,” he explained sadly “You and me against the world, like when we were colonies. But without that bitter England and that meddling Spain on top of us. Do you remember how happy we were?”

Rosalía felt the rage turning to terror, “Alfred, what are you talking about?”

“I want to go back to those days!” he shouted desperately, scaring her, “But you walked away, you avoided me all the time and I wondered what I did wrong. You rejected me. And you stopped looking me in the eyes. Was it all a lie? ...not anymore, you... you... you...”

His voice trailed off, a grimace that showed him desolate, melancholy and was beginning to tinge with regret.

Mexico felt her blood run cold. It was true, after its independence it was impossible to see him face to face when she finally recovered his memories of before the conquest. It turned away from the United States, from Guatemala, from everyone on the continent as it was unable to look at them. But that was no excuse for what Alfred had done to her... the death, the massacres to the cities, the famine and devastation. She was not going to give in...

“Get away from me!” she shoved him roughly being held by the American's wrists.

His empty blue eyes, devoid of emotion, “The war is over, I won. I won and you are mine. Your capital has fallen, you can do nothing now.”

She choked with terror trying to struggle against the monstrous force of the younger nation that no longer had a smile on its face. But its grip did not flinch at her feeble attempts to break free. Hating herself for how useless the boy made her feel.

He wasn't acting in his right mind, immersed in an imaginary world. And that scared her.

“Mexico, stop it,” repeated the American, “We can be happy if you let me...”

“Fuck you! United States! YOU'RE CRAZY!” her voice strained, trembling a little from her anxiety shooting over the edge. She was sure her voice revealed her raw fear, for the American hugged her, stroking her hair in an innocent gesture of reassurance, however, he did just the opposite.

“You don't have to be afraid of our future," he said without listening to her. His mind was far from there, mumbling nonsense.

The Mexican woman didn't understand the erratic behavior of her.... Alfred's mind. She did not recognize the man in front of her, she had stopped doing so years ago. She was frightened by the stranger who hugged her with need.

She was beginning to forget what she was doing there, her memories of the last centuries began to blur, the faces of people she knew blurred, voices lost in the nothingness. The only thing she knew she needed to defend herself from the man in front of her.

Her hands trying to push him away by her instinct she could feel the gun secured to the boy's belt. Alfred instantly let go of her hug to stop her from taking it. They both had their fingers on the gun. They both pushed back and forth, refusing to let go of the dangerous contraption. 

“Rosalie! Stop!” shouted United States moving from side to side trying to get her to let go.

“Never! You didn't stop!”

“Rosa!”

“Don't call me that! You haven't right!” the woman squawked using the boy's own strength as leverage in an attempt to wrestle the gun away from him.

“We can come to an agreement!” he shouted.

"I'd rather die riddled with bullets than serve on my knees!"

Mexico pushed at his chest, but he deflected it to the side of his head. They jostled, one of them mistakenly putting a finger on the trigger. In the struggle, the gun went off.

The acid smell of burning gunpowder. 

Blood stains on the white walls.

A dull thud.

And the horrified look of Alfred F. Jones holding the gun.

Her hand pressed against her shoulder, which was gushing blood, staining what was left of her military uniform. Her agitated breathing made it difficult to swallow what little saliva she had left, it tasted like ashes. She heard the screams in two languages clashing against each other. The hot skin of her back against the cold stone wall stung uncomfortably.

Alfred stared at her in horror, shaking uncontrollably and his legs couldn't hold his weight letting him fall to his knees.

“Oh God, oh God, I don't....” he stammered with tears running down his dirty cheeks.

He raised his hand on automatic to stop her bleeding. She didn't stop it, she didn't have the strength to do so. She felt dizzy from the blood loss, her neighbor's useless fingers trying to put pressure on the mess of torn muscles and arteries.

“WHY WON'T YOU HEAL? WHY WON'T YOU HEAL?!” he cried in despair, smearing himself with blood.

“Are you satisfied?”

The venomous question came from Mexico's sweet, reddish lips (it could be because of the blood that filled her mouth). Alfred looked at her in disbelief at her lack of concern for her injury.

“What a-you a-are a-saying? You're bleeding and you're not healing! Do you think this is what I wanted," the American exclaimed between sobs, not understanding the question.

She continued, "You did it to show your power and gain more territory. You got what you wanted. Are you satisfied? It's not enough? When will it be enough for you?

Alfred continued crying, shaking his head, Mexico frowned with tiredness and confusion trying to cloud her mind ignoring the crying of the northern neighbor. The blood was still flowing and wetting her body, however, it was beginning to dwindle. Mexico did not understand why he was trying so hard to save her. If she died, then the Mexican territory would indisputably belong to the United States.

“Do it. Take all you want. Wipe me off the map. I'll end up winning anyway," he snorted in her flat voice.

The United States sputtered “W-What are you talking about? I-I-I don't u-u-understand.”

“You know what happens when a nation has everything taken away from it? Its people, its culture and its territory," Rosalía said between heavy breaths, "Our wish for humanity is granted, but everything comes at a price. They begin to forget everything, they leave behind everything they were, what they are and what they would have been. Every war, revolution and the other nations you knew are the ones that turn to dust to live a human life. The only one who will bear the brunt of this war will be you, you will never be able to get close to me or hurt me again because I will no longer remember you. I will die and you will have to live with that for centuries.”

Alfred hit the wall to the side of her head smearing it with blood, the skin around his eyes was red with irritation and he looked at her in a state of denial.

“Are you forgetting me?” he asked without taking his eyes off her.

“I have to remind myself every five minutes who the fuck you are. I can't remember the human name of Spain, I can't remember the color of Nicaragua's eyes, I can't remember when I met Lovino, I can't remember my grandmother Olmeca voice ....”

America knew she was not lying to him. I didn't want to believe it, I couldn't accept it, but it was true.

“I won't annex you, I don't want to annex you," he muttered.

**[There was a proposed political movement of Manifest Destiny called "All Mexico" which had the purpose of annexing all the Mexican territory when the capital was taken. The proposal was rejected as the majority of Americans considered the war to be unjust and cruel].**

“THAT'S NOT UP TO YOU! ADMIT IT WHEN I LOSE!” she gasped. She felt human, sickeningly mortal as she stood so close to the bony fingers of the Catrina knowing that possibly this time her good friend would not be able to let her come back.

“I won't do it! I won't ever do it! I won't let you!” he barked in her face, putting more pressure on her wound and making her cry out in pain.

Mexico was about to start yelling at him and lash out at her invader when a male voice interrupted them from the entrance of the room.

“Get away from her," Ireland snarled at them, grabbing the collar of America’s uniform and throwing him away from Mexico, pulling a gun from his coat and shooting him full in the leg.

He looked worse for wear. His uniform covered in dirt and his fiery red hair dulled by dried foreign blood, a redness on his neck indicating he had recently died on the gallows, a hideous "D" mark imprinted on his left cheek, and too skinny. He could feel the bones through his parched skin.

“Ireland,” she whispered in a guttural voice, her urge to weep spiking at the sight of those intense green eyes.

“What in God's name has he done to you?” Irish asked looking horrified at her throbbing injury. He quickly tore several pieces of cloth from his clothes wrapping them around her shoulder and squeezing them.

“I've got to get out of here,” she said squeezing his hand, “We've got to get out of here.”

Ireland gritted his teeth in rage with angry eyes on United States. Mexico tugged at his clothes to get his attention.

“Let it go. He can't take me anymore. Let's just go,” asked Rosalía trying to stand up. She was terribly dizzy, Seamus held her firmly in his skinny arms. God, she really had to fatten the poor man up.

“Mexico,” called Alfred watching them leave with the bullet still embedded in his right thigh.

The aforementioned woman shook her head, holding her friend so he wouldn't jump on top of the man.

“I hope you are satisfied.”

That was the last thing she said to him before walking away without looking back, however, not looking at him didn't silence his pleas for her to come back.

It was when they were out of sight of the American, Mexico broke down in tears and let herself be comforted by Seamus who never let go of her, nor complained about it.

Her chest burned in agony and she allowed herself to drown in hatred. Just for an instant she savored the bitter taste of that poisonous feeling. Her head throbbed in pain, physically she felt like vomiting, but was unable to do so. 

How would she be able to look at her children and tell them that she lost them? What would she tell her other children? That she lost two of her younger siblings?

The man knew she was not crying just for her pride reduced to dust, for the helplessness and indignation of her citizens who refused to surrender to the invader from the north and not just for international humiliation. Her tears were shed when she learned that she had lost her beloved treasures, when a mother's children are taken away from her, she truly dies in life.

“H-Home. My kids,” stammered Mexico with her face buried in his chest.

“It's okay.”

Ireland could not imagine what kind of pain she must be going through. It was definite that the consequences of this massive loss would last far too long. For a moment he feared it would break her completely. 

After being attended to by the doctor, the woman walked home in the company of the Irish man who remained outside the house, leaving the family to have their private reunion.

“Fede, Mari.”

Rosalía heard the footsteps of both children coming down the stairs. She was thankful that she was able to get hold of some bloodless clothes. She didn't want to worry them.

“Mom! “

New Mexico's blue eyes sparkled as he clung to her leg, and California took her hand with a shy smile.

“Mom, I'm hungry," California said.

“What about your uniform?” New Mexico asked.

“Can we eat soup?”

“Ma, I lost my ball.”

“You left it in the bathroom," her sister replied.

“How did it end up there?

“Kids," the adult interjected, and the children looked at their mother.

California noticed the irritated eyes and the hoarse voice. Her cheerful aura was extinguished, her hands cold as if she was dying. And she knew...

“Mom,” whimpered the girl starting to cry.

“What? What's wrong?” asked the older boy in confusion, being abruptly hugged by his mother and sister.

“I love you, I love you so much,” she whispered between her children's hair. Breathing in the citrusy scent of lemon impregnated in their dark strands. She couldn't, couldn't let them go.

“Mom?” New Mexico asked in a trembling voice.

“I lost the war, love," she confessed, letting out small tears that both infants felt in their hair.

Rosalía needed to be strong.

She wanted to be strong for them.

She wanted...

She...

With a choked cry she collapsed consoling awkwardly with her children who were crying openly with her.

[ ... ]

Mexico was taken with her superiors discussing the treaty that would forever seal something irreparable. To cap it all, the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was signed in the chapel of its capital on February 2, 1848. The representation of the Mexican Republic was noticeable and their superiors did not want to be there.

Although the documents with their signatures and testimonies should be hidden, they were necessary to make everything official. 

Upon seeing each other, both neighbors remained silent, with their hearts racing and their eyes fixed on their counterpart. Flooded with fear at the prospect of a past, a present and a future that would unite them.

It only got worse when their superiors forced them to take a seat next to each other. Neither was willing to say a word.

Mexico had a stoic face, fearing in her inner self how she might react if she heard the American. On the other hand, Alfred wanted to talk to her, but he knew that if he opened his mouth he would only make the situation worse. 

He never wanted this to happen, his desires were never for war.

Rosalía had such a big heart and empathy for other people that she was able to reconcile with Antonio and not hate Romano when he took almost all of Spain’s love, but she had limits. Why more than being a nation, Mexico was a mother.

There was no room for apologies, Alfred knew that not by a miracle would she forgive him for taking the kids from her, in his position he understood that she hated him. His Adam's apple moved because of the lump in his throat.

“I, Rosalía Córdova García, the representation of the Mexican Republic accept the guidelines and conditions of the peace treaty I have signed. I cede the territories of New Mexico and Alta California to the United States of America, as well as pass the custody of Federico Córdova García, representing New Mexico and Marina Córdova García, representing Alta California to Alfred Fitzgerald Jones. I renounce all claims of the Sovereign State of Texas and recognize that our new border be established by the Rio Grande River.

With that she ended, she had obviously been rehearsing it. Even her voice sounded monotonous, lifeless.

Alfred swallowed his breath.

“I... Alfred Fitzgerald Jones, representation the United States of America accept the guidelines and conditions of the peace treaty I have signed.... And I agree to settle a compensation of 15 million dollars for the damages caused to the Mexican Republic during the w-war, I accept full custody of the representations of New Mexico and Alta California. And I agree that our border be established by the Rio Grande River.”

Both inked their pens and signed the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo.

The Mexican woman jumped out of her seat and immediately left the chapel. United States stared into the void, only reacting when California’s red eyes from crying begged to leave at once, on the contrary, New Mexico refused to look at him. 

He had an immense urge to sob at the sight of little New Mexico. He was too much like his mother. The same auburn brown, tan skin tone and facial features were undoubtedly inherited from her. However, his blue eyes clashed with his modest appearance. The three of them left the chapel with the sun overhead, teasing them with a beautiful day. Alfred thought annoyed as to why the worst days of his life were either snowy or sunny.

“I want my mom,” he turned to the adult.

“I know, so do I.”

* * *

The St. Patrick's Battalion, a military unit formed by Irish immigrants who were fed up with the mistreatment they suffered from the Americans for being Catholic, thus coming to feel more identified with the Mexicans and rejecting the unjust reason for that war being led by John Riley. They were hanged by the American troops and their last words were "Viva Irlanda, Viva México, Viva la Libertad".


End file.
